


The Graveyard shift

by Shadowmightwrite17



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Again, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Rip is in danger, Sara needs to save him... again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmightwrite17/pseuds/Shadowmightwrite17
Summary: Rip Hunter finds himself in a bit of a bind, and that bit of a bind is in a freshly dug grave. And while he desperately needs them, the Legends are nowhere to be found. How is he going to escape death this time?(Set in an alternate universe where time was never broken in season 2 and the Time Bureau was never founded. Originally written July, 2017 before the season 3 promo)





	The Graveyard shift

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in July 2017, right after I had caught up with the first two seasons of the show but before the season 3 promo was released. It was originally posted to my tumblr (@background-noise-headache) along with a lot of my other LoT fanfiction. Because Tumblr is having a fit right now, I thought I'd back up all my fanfiction to my AO3 account.
> 
> This is my favorite out of all the one shots I've done for this fandom, so it's getting posted first.

He was knee deep in dirt, and cold to the bone. Despite the deep ache of his bones, Rip Hunter kept digging. He had to. There was a gun pointed at his head. Which was, as always, a good motivator to make one do things they would rather not do. Digging his own grave was certainly not high up on the list of things he’d like to do.

Although part of him wondered if Dr. Palmer or Dr. Heywood wouldn’t completely mind the opportunity to dig their own grave like they saw in the films they watched as children. Assuming of course there was always the possibility of escaping with their lives and just calling this a funny story.

For Rip Hunter, this was not going to be a funny story.

Especially since it wasn’t exactly the first time he had dug his own grave. Or the second. And hopefully it wasn’t going to be the last time either.

The safety of the gun clicked off. “We don’t have all night,” Frank O’Connor warned.

Rip stilled, his muscles stiffening up at the threat. “Perhaps some help then?” Rip suggested lowly.

“Perhaps not,” Frank replied, letting out a chuckle. “Keep digging English.”

Rip sighed, continuing to dig. What was it with 1930’s mobsters and their ritualistic murders? Death through intimidation? Most likely some sick satisfaction of watching their victims suffer during their last hours.

The night dragged on as Rip continued digging, hoping for some unexpected but very welcomed rescue. Being in danger and suddenly having the Waverider appear out of nowhere, Captain Lance and her crew of misfits coming in to save the day. Oh, she would tease and mock him for this very moment until her lungs burned and the sun came up, and strangely, Rip very much longed to hear that.

He was running out of time though. The grave was nearly dug and his chance at a rescue was wearing thin.

“Alright, I think that’s good enough,” Frank O’Connor declared, sounding quite satisfied with himself. “Get him out of there.”

Rip turned, looking up in surprise. Then two sets of hands grabbed his arms, easily lifting him out of the grave. For a moment he thought maybe all this had been a rouse, some way the Irish mafia liked to pass their nights, tormenting whoever they liked. That wasn’t a bet he was willing to stake his life on though. The second his feet touched the ground, Rip jerked back and swing his elbow into one of the men holding his arm, then turned to punch the other. Something hard and cold and metal slammed into the back of his head and Rip fell to the side, shutting his eyes for a moment as the pain echoed through his skull. Before he could push himself up, his wrists were pulled together and tied with rope. Not good then. Then his feet were tied together. Rip looked up at the man behind him, still pointing a gun to his head. With a satisfied smirk, Frank O’Connor put the gun down.

“You’re not going to shoot me?” Rip murmured, surprised.

“No, I’m not going to shoot you. That’d be too easy,” Frank coldly replied.

Rip twitched, testing the ropes holding him together. His stomach was twisting nervously. He was lifted onto his feet and made to face Frank O’Connor. Frank let out a wicked smirk,

“You don’t have to do this,” Rip muttered, struggling.

“No, I don’t have to,” Frank agreed, that wicked smirk widening. “I want to.”

A rag was pulled between Rip’s teeth, tied tightly behind his head. Rip grunted, trying to shout through rag that tasted of dirt and cheap whiskey. Frank let out another echoing laugh as he planted his hand to Rip’s chest, and pushed him backwards. Rip slammed into the cold dirt, screaming. He struggled against the ropes.

He rolled so he was on his side, trying to free his hands. Above him he heard more laughter before dirt was tossed into the grave, landing on his chest. Rip paled. He was going to be buried alive. Dying slowly, painfully, as he struggled to breathe. If he had to die, this wasn’t how he wanted to go out. Dirt continued to drop over him, covering him as he tugged at the ropes, screaming for all he was worth. Dirt hit his face and he shook his head violently, trying to shake it away. It would only prolong his death, but Rip didn’t want it to end like this.

Above him he heard commotion, something impacting something with heavy force. Suddenly a body the weight of a boulder crashed into him, crushing his chest. Rip wheezed, finding it harder to breathe. He heard more commotion as the three men standing over his grave shouted something. A gun was fired, another man grunting and falling to the ground. Rip jerked his shoulder, trying to shove off the man lying on top of him. His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself as his lungs shook with panic.

It was quiet up above him, on the ground. Rip let out a cry for help, muffled by the gag in his mouth. A figure appeared above him, blocking out the moonlight. Light feet dropped onto the ground by his feet.

“Fuck, Rip.” Sara murmured breathlessly, taken off guard.

Rip let out a sigh of relief, his head lulling to the side. The gag was pulled out of his mouth.

“Sara,” Rip whispered, exhausted and so incredibly relieved.

Sara knelt down and rolled the heavy body off him. Rip wondered for a moment if the man was dead or alive. Knowing Sara, probably still alive, but Rip was finding it difficult to care about someone so ready to give him a slow and painful death.

Sara crouched down next to him, carefully pulling him into a sitting position. Her hand went to her back pocket, pulling out a knife. Of course she had a knife. Rip wasn’t sure he was ever so thankful for her knife hording tendencies.

She cut through the rope that held his hands behind his back, setting him free. His ankles were next.

“How the hell did you end up like this?” Sara questioned, looking at him in surprise.

“It’s a long story,” Rip answered, his voice croaking. He’d been screaming, and he’d almost forgotten that until now.

Sara pulled him to his feet. He heard running feet, no doubt his former team running towards them. Jax was the first to appear, looking down at them. He stared down at them in shock. Mick was next, pushing Jax behind.

“And here I thought this night couldn’t get any better,” Mick joked, laughing.

Sara sent him a hard glare. “Get him out of here,” She ordered.

Mick grumbled that he didn’t take orders from her and held his hand out to Rip. Rip took it, hands shaking. With embarrassing ease, Mick managed to pull Rip out of the grave. Sara was next.

Rip stood there, staring down at the grave below with a racing heart. His breathing was still fast and panicked.

Warm arms wrapped tightly around him as Sara pulled him into a hug, her chin resting on his shoulder as her arms held him, pinned. Rip returned the hug, his arms wrapping around her waist as he dipped his head into her shoulder.

How could he have doubted her? Of course she would come for him. She always would. As he would for her.

“Enough hugging, let’s take this reunion back to the ship,” Mick spoke up, grumbling.

Sara laughed and pulled away, her arm wrapping over his shoulder despite their height difference.

“It’s good to have you back,” Jax added, gripping his hand tightly over Rip’s shoulder, comforting him.

Mick started walking away. “Glad you’re not dead yet,” Mick grumbled lowly.

Rip, to his ever growing surprise, smiled faintly at that.

They walked away from the grave, approaching the nearest exit. Jax on his left, Sara on his right with her arm wrapped around him, and Mick ahead of them.

Ray and Nate were next to meet up with them, relieved to see Rip still in one piece. What Nate and Ray referred to as “bro-hugs” immediately followed. Martin and Amaya met them at the graveyard gate. Amaya pulled him into a comforting hug.

“I’m fine, really,” Rip insisted. The slight, almost imperceptible shake in his voice left Rip cursing himself.

While he was sure most of his team hadn’t noticed, Sara turned to him in concern. Of course she knew him best. She’d seen him at his absolute worst, seen him at his most broken, and even ventured into his mind to save him from himself.

They walked towards the Waverider, getting in. Sara immediately sent Rip to the med bay, ordering Ray and Martin to look after him. She disappeared to the bridge, presumably to go collect the jump ship, given she’d asked for the ship’s coordinates, and hopefully put them in the temporal zone, or at least a few thousand miles away from their current location. Rip wanted to put as much distance between his captors and would-be murderers, and himself as possible.

He found himself wishing Sara hadn’t left when she did, still shaken up by what happened. Though he managed to hide it well from Professor Stein and Dr. Palmer. Gideon was of course, never fooled, but she kept those details to herself, thank God.

About a half hour later, Sara returned, announcing they had jumped into the temporal zone.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, at his side in an instant.

“Fine of course,” Rip lied.

She gave him a knowing look. Her eyes flickered up to Martin and Ray.

“Dr. Palmer, perhaps we ought to let Mr. Hunter rest,” Martin suggested, immediately taking the hint.

Ray looked at Martin in surprise before glancing back at Sara, slowly understanding. With a nod, Ray followed Martin out.

The door closed and Rip felt a rush of air leave his lungs as he looked up at Sara. Her blue eyes were clouded with concern, a frown cursing her lips. Rip licked his dry lips, trying to hold her gaze.

“How are you really?” Sara asked.

“Quite alright, as I said before,” Rip insisted.

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him to lie to her again. Rip sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “I’m not alright,” He admitted. “I was almost buried alive. I was terrified.”

He looked back at Sara, eyes pleading her not to tell anyone ever. She nodded her understanding. She’d never tell a soul.

“I’m so glad we managed to find you in time,” Sara whispered, her voice barely there as she looked down. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

In an impulse, Rip’s hand fluttered to her cheek, gently brushing against her skin. “You’ll never lose me,” He promised.

Sara sighed, shaking her head. “Rip, I have died, more than once.”

She didn’t miss the flinch as he remembered crushing her neck, pulled back to the memories of when he was that twisted, dark, and cold-hearted version of himself. The version of himself he had slowly been trying to bury down and hide.

Her fingers brushed against his hand, holding it to her cheek, smiling gently. Her smile faltered for a moment. “Tomorrow is never promised. Your life can be taken from you at any moment, and I’m terrified I’ll lose you.”

He watched as tears formed in her light blue eyes. He pressed his thumb against her cheek, wiping one away.

“You won’t lose me,” He promised again.

“Then stop running,” Sara begged.

He felt his heart breaking. He knew he was no good for the team, that all he would bring was heartache and pain, and yet here was this angel pleading with him to stay. How could he deny her, when she was in tears, standing over him protectively? So rarely she showed emotion, and here she was, baring her soul for him to see.

He couldn’t leave her, not like this.

“Please, just stay,” She whispered.

“I’ll stay,” Rip whispered.

Sara nodded, her lips wobbling for a moment as she leaned down.

Rip brushed his fingers into her hair, sitting up as he met her in a heated kiss. He wasn’t running, not when his angel in black was begging him to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested in following my tumblr and getting fanfiction updates, my url is @background-noise-headache and feel free to follow me.  
> I'm posting all my tumblr fanfiction here over the next few days, so look out for that (it's all TimeCanary, I won't lie) I don't really write for Legends of Tomorrow anymore, especially since I never finished season 3 and haven't even started with season 4, but I have a lot of old stuff I'm posting.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you'd be so kind will you leave me a nice comment?


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